


In the endless sky we are but one

by SatanInACroptop



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, a smidge of blood but no violence or kink in anyway, angst with a dash of fluff, author chose not to use warnings because they felt irrelevant, so I dont see the need to warn you about, warning for romance and lots of feelings there thats a warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2273886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatanInACroptop/pseuds/SatanInACroptop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every year on the full moon nearest the date, Peter's wolf mourns the loss of the pack he can never have and the life he can never truly regain. </p><p>Prompt-fill for Noctiscorvus on tumblr, who asked for "Steter - Stiles hears Peter sing!howl for the first time. Creeper wolf can be human or not, up to you~"</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the endless sky we are but one

The moon is bright overhead, round and full when Stiles pulls the Jeep up to the clearing at the entrance of the preserve. He’s not here for Scott, or for Derek. They’re off and running through what Stiles jokingly calls “the moon fever”. No, he’s here for the only wolf who isn’t running. 

 

He takes his time walking through the wood, picking his way to avoid a slip or a fall. There’s no rush. They’re not going anywhere. 

Stiles has been dating the wolf for nearly half a year, and he’s known since day one that this would happen eventually. Its not the exact date, but he anticipated that too. The day Peter nearly died, survived what the rest of his family did not, was a few days away. But tonight was the closest full moon to it. 

He nearly trips over a root when the first howl rings through the forest. It’s nothing like the bellows of Scott nearly dying by Victoria Argent’s hand, or the roar of an Alpha summoning it’s betas. The sound is melodic and beautiful, and its followed by another, and another. There’s a rhythm to it, and Stiles has to fight not to let it distract him until he breaches through the last thicket and into the clearing. 

The ruins of the Hale house are slowly being moved away, but the process of tearing it down right takes time. They have plans to use the original foundations, something about insurance reimbursement he remembers overhearing on the phone. And standing there beyond the chain link fence, recently erected to stop anyone from going inside and getting hurt, is his boyfriend, Peter Hale. 

Who vehemently despises the term boyfriend. It’s too casual for what they have, but any other term is too close to be shared. 

"Hey. I thought I’d find you here."

Peter doesn’t say anything, which is odd for him. There’s never been a moment of their relationship where Peter hasn’t had a sharp remark rolling off his tongue. 

When Stiles steps up beside him, there’s claws at his finger tips, eyes glowing blue, and too many teeth. But there’s nothing terrifying about it, no violence in his eyes or threat in his posture. He’s hunched over, arms hanging limp at his sides, brow pinched in sadness. If Stiles could see better in the low light, he thinks Peter’s face might be wet. 

There is nothing Stiles can say to comfort him. There are no words for what Peter went through, and he won’t make any attempts to compare the pain the werewolf feels to his own. Stiles lost one parent, to an illness, which though unfair was at least natural, at least prepared for. He had time to adjust, to say goodbye before his mom was taken. Peter’s family was murdered by genocidal maniacs in one of the most painful ways imaginable. 

But he won’t leave him here to face this alone either. 

Stiles reaches over and takes one clawed and calloused hand in his own. His hands are bigger than Peter’s, only just so, and he wraps his long fingers around the werewolf’s with a firm squeeze. 

Peter squeezes back, and even though his claws dig deep enough to break the skin, the boy doesn’t even flinch, and the wolf doesn’t let up. There’s a considerable amount of neck line showing from the stupid Armani cardigan he loves when he throws his head back, and sings that haunting song of howling melodies that Stiles thinks is the most beautiful thing he has ever heard. It sinks into his bones, raises goosebumps that have nothing to do with the cold

"If you were you right now," Stiles says when his boyfriend stops, head hanging low, "you would probably make some shitty remark, but that’s a really beautiful song. Even though it hurts. Maybe, even because it hurts."

Peter still doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even spare the boy a glance, and its only that silence that makes Stiles afraid. Not because Peter is a grieving omega werewolf on a full moon, but for the simple fact that maybe he isn’t wanted here. Perhaps, for the first time, he’s finally managed overstep his bounds. 

"Hey, look, if you want me to go, I’ll go."

Stiles stops rubbing the too hairy knuckles, but when he tries to move his hand away, Peter’s claws dig deeper. He turns and looks at Stiles, and he has to look up, even though they’re the same height. They are not as different as others would like to believe. 

"Don’t," he whispers, his voice wrecked. The corner’s of his glowing eyes are definitely wet, and there’s fangs over pale lips where a human mouth simply can’t contain them. He reaches out for Stiles face, hand slipping over his jaw, thumb brushing over his lower lip fondly. The claws are so gentle they tickle. "Please."

Its the please that makes Stiles crack, takes the calm and stability he’s managed to sum up and snaps it in two. His mouth falls open, and he doesn’t hesitate to wrap himself around a half-turned, sometimes out of his mind from nightmares and grief, werewolf. He buries his face in Peter’s neck, and Peter does the same. His grip is so tight Stiles has to work to breathe, and Peter is shamelessly inhaling his scent, greedily.

Stiles remembers something Cora said once  _Losing pack, its like losing a limb_  and he wonders if she knows about phantom limb syndrome, the agony of waking up everyday to every sense you have telling you that what you lost is still there, only to realize once again that your senses are lying, and whats gone can never truly be replaced. There are drugs to mask it, but to Stiles knowledge, there has never been a cure.  

"I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay here all night."

Peter makes a sound like a simper, and Stiles vows to never repeat it to anyone. They’re partners, their weaknesses are their own and no one else’s. He knows no one understands them, and they don’t have to. There’s is a private thing. 

"No, really. I brought water and snacks, and a blanket. In case I get cold. You’d be pissed if I got sick." 

Peter buries his fingers into his hair, and even with the pinprick of claws, Stiles forces his heartbeat to stay normal even as the werewolf pulls him to the ground. The grass is surprisingly dry underneath them, and Stiles shrugs off the backpack for a bottle of water. He takes only a swig, and offers it to Peter. He chugs the whole thing in under ten seconds, and goes right back to howling his song of death and sacrifice. 

Stiles curls up in his lap, blood welling up on his hands, and snuggles into the werewolf’s arms. 

The colors of the stars match the color of Peter’s eyes.


End file.
